


Study Buddies

by wordsbymeganmichael



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, No age difference, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Teacher-Student Relationship, because shes technically his TA and not his professor, but only kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-10 22:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,358
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20535635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordsbymeganmichael/pseuds/wordsbymeganmichael
Summary: Based on the prompt: let's imagine this, emma is killian's teacher (college), and she's doing a strip tease for him to learn/study for sex education test, after all, she's his sex ed. teacher.Killian Jones is a nontraditional college student at Boston University. Emma Swan is the teaching assistant for his Personal and Sexual Wellness class, and he gets some help studying for his final exam.





	Study Buddies

**Author's Note:**

> I stuck as close to the prompt as I felt comfortable -- the only change is that Emma and Killian are the same age, and Emma is his TA instead of professor. They're both fully consenting 27 year old adults, and feelings may have (once again) worked their way into my smut. If you have any questions about their relationship before you enter into this, please message me @thejollyroger-writer on tumblr!

Killian Jones has been in a lot of sticky situations in his twenty-seven years. He was  _ almost  _ kicked out of high school for being caught with too many girls in the library,  _ almost  _ kicked off the soccer team because of what happened with the coach's daughter, and  _ definitely  _ kicked out of that club in London after he was caught with one of the dancers in the dressing room on his twenty-first birthday. 

He's been given speeding tickets, been kicked out of countless bars, and been dishonorably discharged from the British Navy after his brothers death sent him down a path of self-destruction that he never thought he could come back from. 

But he's a different man now than he was during any of those times. He's cleaned up his act, taken the severance pay from the Navy and moved to America, and has even started taking college classes again, since he found a job at Boston University in the first place. 

Even through all that, twenty-year-old Killian Jones never would have imagined finding himself in twenty-seven-year-old Killian Jones' current situation. 

He knows he's walking a fine line, one that he's not even sure he knows how to draw, since the rules around this aren't incredibly clear. All he'd done was ask her out for coffee, then lunch, then dinner, slowly building their relationship in hopes that it would flourish into something concrete. But he'd wanted something concrete  _ after  _ finals, when she technically wasn't his teacher anymore. 

She's had his heart since the very first day of classes, when he walked into the lecture hall and saw her standing behind the podium wearing black leggings and a BU Swimming t-shirt, her soft blonde curls pulled into a high ponytail. Clacking away softly at the keyboard in front of her, she was only half paying attention to the students coming into the room, but as he took a seat at the center of the third row, she raised her eyes to his and turned the very corner of her lip up into the beginnings of a smile, though it only lasted a moment before it disappeared. 

And then the professor walked in, an older lady with cropped white hair in jeans and a Martha's Vineyard sweatshirt. He started to put the pieces together, and it made much more sense: the gorgeous blonde was  _ not  _ Dr. Lucas. Within just a few minutes, the class started, and she introduced herself as Emma Swan, teaching assistant for the health and wellness department — also known as, the woman that would be teaching all of them  _ Personal and Sexual Health _ for the next 15 weeks. The longest 15 weeks of his life. 

He still doesn't quite understand how he got  _ here _ . Sure, when he had flirted, she has returned it without batting an eye, the innuendoes included. Once they got comfortable enough with each other —  _ as friends _ , he insisted, though his heart (and other parts of the anatomy she eloquently taught them about) had yearned for so much more — he had offered to walk her back to her apartment, even though it was very far out of his way back to his. 

And then she invited him up. There was no way to ignore the spark that's been lingering between them, the way her eyes have been flashing to his while she's teaching lectures about sex, the way she tries to hide the smile on her face. 

The way he tries to hide his erection. 

"I don't — I don't know, Emma, I don't think—" he stuttered, his hand rising to scratch the spot behind his ear, a nervous tick he's had since middle school, but then she fisted her hands around the collar of his jacket and pulled her lips to his, and he was completely useless to fight against her anymore. 

But  _ this _ ?  _ This  _ was all her idea, and they may have shared a few glasses of wine with dinner, but he didn't think that could possibly cloud her judgement enough to cause  _ this _ . 

He's stone-still, both wondering how the  _ hell  _ he got here, and thanking every version of a higher power that he's ever heard of. He  _ knows  _ his mouth is agape, he  _ knows  _ there is a fairly-obvious tent being pitched in his jeans, and he  _ knows  _ that if he were gripping the arms of the chair any harder, he would probably break them. 

He  _ knows  _ all that, yet he doesn't care. Because in front of him, close enough that he could reach out and touch her delicate pale skin, is Emma Swan, the very minx who stole his heart on the first day of the fall semester and has been haunting his dreams for just as long, her bright green eyes blazing with something more than just a slight buzz from the wine, staring deep into his soul as she unzips the side of her soft pink dress, slowly aiding the fabric as it falls to the floor. 

As she sways her hips to the beat of the music pouring softly from the speakers behind her, her hands sliding slowly across the exposed skin of her stomach. 

As she curls her fingers around her still-covered breasts before moving her hands back down to her hips and toying with the elastic edge of her plain black panties. 

As she climbs into his lap, her fingers quickly working at the buttons of his shirt. He is still motionless, even as she presses her lips against the sensitive skin under his ear and whispers, "I've been teaching you about sex for three weeks, now it's your turn to show me what you've learned."

She untucks the ends of his shirt so she can push it off his shoulders and leans back down to his ear, this time taking the lobe between her teeth before she purrs, "Touch me, Killian." 

This is, apparently, the right thing for her to say, and he finally springs into action, moving all at once: capturing her lips with his, wrapping one arm around her back while the other moves straight to one of her breasts, fingers pushing the lacy cup out of the way so he can roll her nipple between them. She moans into his mouth, a sound that travels directly to his still-hardening erection, and he pulls her down against him further, needing the friction to alleviate some of the tension under his jeans. 

"The most important part of sex," he mumbles, trailing wet, open-mouthed kisses down her jaw and up her neck, "is the foreplay." 

"I certainly —  _ ah, _ " she says, her words stopping with a cry when he sucks on the skin of her collarbone and pinches her nipple simultaneously. "I certainly didn't teach you that." 

He reaches around her to unhook her bra, something that he hasn't had to do since before he moved to Boston, kissing down the curves of her now-bare breasts as he tosses it onto the floor. When he swirls his tongue around one of her nipples, pinching it between his teeth before soothing it with his tongue, she groans again, half-laughing, and grinds down against where he is still painfully confined by his jeans. 

He needs to get out of his jeans. Out of his jeans and in to  _ her.  _

"Would you like to argue about it?" he asks, his lips never leaving her breast. 

"What's the alternative?" she jokes, but sucks in a breath when his hand finds her other breast and he ruts his hips up against her core, trailing his lips back up to her ear so he can growl, "You show me where your bed is so I can fuck you into it." 

"That one," she mumbles, her lips pressed against his neck. "I vote for that one." 

Sliding one of his hands under her ass and wrapping the other around her waist, he stands up, pulling her along with him. She wraps her legs around him, pressing the area where she aches for him against the soft hair that covers his stomach, and she holds back from rutting against him a second time. 

"I figured you might. Now, where is this bed of yours?" 

She points him towards the bedroom, allowing herself the distraction of pushing his shirt onto the floor and feeling the hard muscles of his back instead of focusing on the way he rubs deliciously against her with every movement. 

He stops in the doorway, and for the briefest moment, she thinks that maybe he's changed his mind, until he says, "Turn the light on, love. I want to see the way you look when I fuck you." 

A wave of both adrenaline and heat rolls through her body at his words, something about the way they so eloquently roll off his tongue, even as he is completely wrecked, and she does as he asks. It only takes him two more steps to reach the bed, where he somehow sets her gently down on top of it before climbing on top of her, caging her against the mattress with his body. His lips find hers again, not even pausing before tonguing his way into her mouth. He loses himself in the feeling of her body beneath him, her fingers curled into his hair, her breasts against his bare chest and her legs spread open around his hips. 

_ Bloody hell _ , he needs to get out of his jeans. 

This is the only reason he pulls away from her, moving only as far as he needs to to finally free himself from the confines of his pants, but the adrenaline coursing through him won't keep his lips still. 

"I've wanted to do this since the first day I saw you behind that podium," he whispers, his eyes on her face, but hers watching the movement of his hands as he loosens his belt. "You're absolutely bloody gorgeous, and I knew that day that you were either a siren that would bring me to my demise, or the angel sent to save me." He's not sure where the words even come from, and he's convinced that she's not listening to him, or only half-hearing as she focuses on where he is sliding his jeans over his hips, his erection bobbing free from the confines against the thin fabric of his boxer-briefs, which he removes with his jeans and tosses both on the floor. 

Her eyes are still on his cock, but a small smile spreads across her features. "Which is it?" she asks, only meeting his eyes again when he is silent. 

"Pardon?" He really thought she wasn't listening, and in focusing on her reaction to him, he forgot everything he said. 

"Am I a siren or an angel?" she whispers, bringing herself to kneel in front of him, mirroring his stance, resting one hand gently against his cheek as the other quickly wraps itself around his erection. 

He can't answer her for a moment, overwhelmed by the feel of her hand around him, and he squeezes his eyes shut. Letting out a small laugh, she leans closer to him to press her lips against his collarbone as she slowly begins to pump him with her hand, collecting the wetness from his tip with her thumb. 

"I haven't decided yet," he groans, and it takes everything in him to reach down and stop her. "But if you keep doing that, I won't last long enough to come to a decision."

"That would be a shame," she says, and even though she doesn't sound like she really wants to, she does stop pumping him. 

"Besides." He nudges her shoulder until she goes back to laying on her back, though this time, he does not cage her in. "There's so much more I want to do to you before we even get to that point," he growls, his fingers slowly tracing up the inside of her thighs. 

She shivers, his touch leaving fire in its wake. "Like what?" she whispers, barely able to get the words out over every reaction her body has to him. She has loved the way his voice sounded since the very first question he asked, since he asked her if she was free to get a coffee, and during every conversation they've had in the past thirteen weeks — but  _ this _ , having him completely in awe of her, his voice deep and wrecked and  _ dark _ is something else entirely. 

Hearing him talk dirty to her, winding her up more than she has ever been before without even touching her soaked core, is something that she has a feeling she may never get tired of. Something that she would like to hear enough to  _ learn _ if she will ever tire of it. 

And then he laughs, deeper and darker than his voice, with his lips pressed against her inner thigh, his stubble tickling the sensitive skin there as his fingers toy with the very edge of her panties, and she changes her mind —  _ that  _ is the greatest sound in the world. 

"Oh, darling," he mumbles, his lips never leaving her skin. "I'm going to have you screaming my name before I even fill you up." 

"Is that a challenge?" she breathes, almost unable to form the words in the first place, just as he ghosts the very tips of his fingers over the thin material of her panties. 

He moves to look up at her, meeting her eyes over the swell of her breasts and the muscles of her stomach, and even with the overhead lights illuminating the room around them, she notices that the bright blue of his eyes that she noticed on the first day of the semester has darkened to something much stormier. 

That, along with the touch of his fingers again, sends a shudder through her body, one he must feel, because he smiles at her. 

"I would like to think of it as a promise, but if you want to make it a challenge, by all means. I do love a challenge."

She laughs, actually  _ laughs  _ out loud at this, and his smile grows, especially once he dips his fingers under her panties and against her wet core. Sucking in. breath, she squeezes her eyes shut. 

"Let's get these out of our way, shall we?" he whispers, hooking his index fingers underneath them, and all she can do is nod as he pulls them down her legs, moving out of the way so she can deposit them on the floor with everything else. 

He stays still for a moment, long enough for Emma to meet his eyes again. He winks at her, but still says nothing, slowly taking in her entire naked body. She feels another shiver start at the top of her spine, but this one is not from her arousal; instead, it's the very beginning of a memory, of the last time she let another man look at her like that, though where he thought she was a possession, Killian thinks she is a work of art, an absolute masterpiece. 

"Absolutely bloody perfect," he groans, and she feels a different heat, the heat of embarrassment begin to color her cheeks. 

If he notices it, he says nothing, instead bringing his lips to hers again. 

One of his hands tangles into her hair, the other moving slowly down her side, stopping momentarily to rub at her nipple until it hardens into a peak again before continuing downward until his fingers find the wetness pooled at her core. 

His lips curve into a smile, one that she feels as she continues to kiss him, and he mumbles, "So wet for me, love," against her lips. 

Her only response is to tighten her grip around him, tighten her fist in his hair and dig her fingernails into his back. She needs him to  _ touch _ her, to stop ghosting his fingers across her skin and take action. 

Though when he pulls away from her, running his thumb across her cheek, and says, "I need to taste you, Emma," she has I admit to herself that she  _ definitely  _ expected him to be the type of person who not only wants to, but  _ enjoys _ going down on a woman. 

She has never been with a man like that before. 

She nods. 

He pecks his lips against hers, the softest thing shared by them that night, before quickly moving his lips down her body: her jaw, her neck, her chest — where he pauses for a moment, swirling his tongue around each nipple, swirling it between his teeth and sucking softly, soothing the pain away, before continuing to make his way down her stomach, her hips, the inside of her things, until finally — 

She moans, a noise she has never heard escape her lips before, when he swipes his tongue against her, widening her legs with his hands so he can press his tongue into her. 

He was worried that he's forgotten how to do this, having been so long since the last woman he paid this much attention to, since the last time he needed something more than a quick fuck — but between the sounds escaping her lips and the way she raises her hips towards his mouth, he thinks it's safe to assume he's doing alright. 

He really meant what he said before, about wanting her to scream out his name, and whether she takes it as a promise or a challenge, he intends to make good on it. He curls his tongue inside her one more time, devouring as much of her sweet nectar as he can, swipes his tongue against her again, and presses his tongue into her clit. 

She moans again, higher-pitched this time than the last one, and when he raises his eyes to look at her face, her eyes are still squeezed shut. He's never seen a more perfect sight before in his life, and she bucks her hips against his mouth when he swirls her tongue against her swollen clit. 

_ Fuck _ , there is a very good chance he might just be in love with her. It's a though he plans to keep to himself for the time being — at least until he turns in his final exam — but feeling her move beneath him, the way she responds to his every touch, even just looking at her, spread out on the bed before him, opening herself up to him — there is something in this moment that he knows is more than lust. 

But there's also  _ very much  _ lust. 

"I want you to touch yourself, Emma," he whispers, slowly pressing one of his fingers into her. Her face does not change, even as she nods, and he feels another surge of heat gather at the base of his spine as he watches her swirl her long fingers around her nipples, pinching at them simultaneously. "Just like that." He curls his finger deeper into her, pulling at her clit gently with his teeth, and he has to push memories of Emma with her laser pointer teaching them the female anatomy out of his head. 

He slides another finger inside her, relishing in the feeling of her walls clenching tighter around them, sucking and pressing at her clit with his mouth, and when she begins to move her hips in rhythm with his fingers, he knows she won't be too much longer. 

Which is good, because he’s not sure how much longer he can last himself. 

As much as he is able, he tries to focus on her face, on the way she looks as he brings her to completion, hoping to distract himself from the thought of how incredible she feels around his fingers, how desperately he wants to be inside her. 

But he has a promise to keep first. Or a challenge to win. Whichever it is, he plans to make due. 

It only takes a few more pumps, a few more rocks of her hips, a few more swipes of his tongue against her sweet-tasting clit, and then she is fluttering around him, her loudest moan yet escaping from her lips as her hands leave her nipples and fly to her side, fisting around handfuls of the blanket beneath her. She is lost in a moment of total euphoria, even the darkness behind her eyelids flashing white, and the only thing that matters is Killian. 

_ God _ , she’s absolutely gorgeous. 

“That’s it, darling,” he mumbles, not slowing the movement of his fingers as his voice vibrates against her sensitive skin. 

“ _ Oh _ , fuck,” she cries, her fists tightening more around the blanket as her body reacts to him. 

As he doesn’t stop. Doesn’t slow. 

As he just keeps pumping, sucking at her clit between his lips. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she mouths, the words themselves barely escaping, and he smiles against her skin. Her hips won’t stop bucking against him, even as she continues to ride out her orgasm, which only seems to be gaining intensity. 

He laughs against her skin, slowly sliding his lips to the inside of her thigh, where he plants a gentle kiss, the scratchy-softness of his stubble only adding to the intensity of it all. 

She moans again, mumbles his name, but that’s not good enough for him, though it only makes his smile grow. 

“Come on, love,” he whispers, nipping lightly at her thigh, and she cries out. “You know what it is I want from you.” 

At this, her eyes snap open, finding his from where he is watching her, face still buried between her thighs. 

“Are you fucking serious?” she breathes out, but none of her anger makes it into her body movement — she’s still useless against him as his fingers continue their movements within her. 

“Aye, love, I am.” He pauses his movement for a moment, though her hips still rut against his hand, not wanting the break from her high. “Though if you give me what I want, then I can finally be fucking Emma Swan.” 

She rolls her eyes — or, starts to, though the action is rudely cut off by her slamming her eyes shut when his tongue presses back against her clit. 

As if without her permission, the very thing he is waiting for slips from between her lips here, and she cries, “ _ Fuck, Killian, please! _ ” as he scrapes his teeth against her bundle of nerves. 

He nods, laughing again as he carefully and slowly slides his fingers from inside her and climbs back up her body, pressing small kisses against some of the skin he finds along the way before positioning himself at her entrance. 

“This may really not be the moment for this conversation, but do you have a condom?” he growls in her ear, wishing that it was something he thought of before. 

But she’s his health teacher, and if anyone was going to be prepared, it would be the woman who has been handing condoms out in class to students who answer questions correctly. 

(Worst case scenario he has one in his wallet, the first one he got from her.) 

She laughs, her head falling back against the pillow. “I’m covered, I have an IUD. Do you really think I would rely on condoms anyway, being someone who has to regularly teach that they’re best to use as a secondary?” 

“Valid.” 

“So as long as you’re not carrying any weird British naval venereal diseases, I think we’ll be alright.” 

Now it’s his turn to laugh. “I’ve seen quite a few doctors since the last woman I was with.” 

“Well then,” she purrs, much softer than the words spoken before it, reaching between them to wrap her slender fingers around him. “If you’ll be so kind, I would really like to have you inside me.” 

She can’t help herself, with her fingers encasing him like they are, and she pumps him once, twice, smiling wickedly up at him. 

Of all the moments to get embarrassed, he’s chosen this one, using her guidance to slide slowly inside her. “I really should warn you,” he mumbles, suddenly unsure of himself, even after every reaction she has had to him so far. “There’s a large chance that I won’t last very long.” 

Surprising him, she slides her hands up his back until she is cupping his face, and she pulls it down to hers, finding his lips in a soft kiss. “You’ve already made me scream your name, and you’ve broken through every expectation I had,” she whispers, then kisses him again, starting to slowly move her hips beneath him. “Just the incredible feeling of you filling me up is enough for this time.” 

Even as he begins to lose himself in the feeling of being inside her, the meaning of her words is not lost on him. 

“Does that mean there will be a next time?” 

Tilting her hips to give him a better angle, she smiles, moving her fingers across his cheek. “Assuming that’s what you want?” 

“ _ Bloody hell,”  _ he groans, both at the question and the tension growing at the base of his spine, a tension that begs to be released. “Yes —  _ fuck _ — of course.” 

“Good,” she whispers, so soft that it is almost only a breath, and moves under him again, wrapping her legs around the back of his knees. His movements quicken, one of his hands finding its way to her breast, and he leans down to capture her lips in a kiss. He was correct — it really does not take more than just a few more pumps, harder and faster, before he is completely drowning in the feeling of her wrapped around him, of the way she seems to get impossibly tighter with every thrust, and then he is gone —  _ “Christ, Emma, I—” —  _ spilling himself inside of her with a few erratic thrusts before practically collapsing on top of her, his face pressed into the pillow beside her head. 

With her fingers winding through his hair, she turns her head to press a kiss against his cheek, a soft smile spread across her features. 

“I can’t say for sure,” she whispers, her lips pressed against the shell of his ear, “But I have a pretty good feeling that you’ll pass your exam next week.” 


End file.
